Watching, Waiting
by TheOtherMaddHatter
Summary: And I know what you're thinking... This dame's crazy! But I'm not, really I saw him, and he saved me...


Watching, Waiting

Hi, you might not know me but that doesn't matter. What does matter is that you stopped by to hear my story, one that not many people sit down to listen to anymore. I'm not crazy though, even if you may think that. And I know what you're thinking, what is this woman babbling on about right? Well, I am going to tell you.

You see, I like to watch people. It is kind of like a hobby of mine you see, sort of like painting or making models. Only I get so much more out of it.

Now, on this particular day of people watching, I had been sitting on a bench in Gotham City Park for hours. It was my day off, and I planned on spending it in leisure. I had always found human interaction fascinating, that's why I went to school for human behavior and psychiatric development. I always end up back at the same bench though, it never seems to fail.

On this particular afternoon, actually it was dusk by now; I had gotten in some wonderful moments. A young couple holding hands and walking together, an older couple sitting on the bench whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears, you know the usual. All and all it was a good day.

The park was disserted now, being so close to dark and all, so I decided that it was as good as time as any to start heading home. I rented an apartment a couple of blocks over from the park, just because I have a tendency to linger there after hours and wanted to be close. I was glad for this tonight, it was getting chilly quickly and the dark was closing in.

I'm not afraid of the dark, and I'm not afraid of getting caught out in it. It's the people that are _in _the dark that bother me, and since we live in Gotham there isn't any telling who I could run into. We have so many freaks running around now. Nope, I decided that it was time to call it a night and packed up shop.

After I had gathered up my bag and sketch book, I draw sometimes while I'm watching people, I started towards the side entrance of the park and off to my apartment. I realize now that I probably should have been more aware of my surroundings, but I wasn't. Instead I was off in my own little world again, not paying attention to anything but my thoughts, you know the usual.

I guess that's why I didn't see them.

Although now that I look back at it, it was kind of hard to miss you know, what with the costumes and all. Or maybe it was the fact that they were running at really fast paces that I failed to realize that I was in their paths until it was too late. I'm still not too sure about the details.

You know, I've been hit before. But it wasn't anything like this time, maybe because I got hit with a lead pipe. I didn't even see it coming. One minute I was walking along and then the next I was sprawled on the ground, my bag being gone through by gang members. I don't really remember a lot about them, or about what was even going on. I _do _remember him though.

It was someone that I didn't ever expect to see, especially coming to the rescue. My rescue to be exact, I am such a lowly person. In some ways it may have been comical to see him standing over me, an ever present symbol of darkness and fear. He really scared the living Hell out of those guys too man, it was amazing! The way he moved, the way he used their terror against them. It was any psychologist's dream come true.

Man, those thugs were out of there before you could say "hot rabbit jump"!

I never got a chance to thank him though; he was gone before the police arrived. Although I don't know who called them, I know I certainly hadn't. He must have done it as he left the park. That is the only way I can explain it. The police just found me there, lying on my back in the dirt.

And I know what you're thinking. Yeah, everyone has a Batman story right?

Well, you see the funny thing about my story is that it isn't like your other stories.

It wasn't the Batman who came to my rescue…

It was the Scarecrow.


End file.
